The Grave
by Athiya
Summary: "Speak of the devil. Dick Grayson was walking slowly to Jason and his grave, and dammit ..." Read the rest if you're curious. Angst.
1. To Kill You, DickieBird

**AN: This is set a short while after Under the Hood. I was scared of writing about Jason because he's my favorite Robin and I didn't know if I could do him justice. He has such complex feelings and conflicts and I hope I do well on this. Chapter two will be up next week. Enjoy.  
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><p>Jason Todd's tombstone was beautiful. It was made from a piece of clean white marble, and on it was Jason's own name, carved carefully to stay forever more. An angel perched on top of the tomb. A few dead flowers lay scattered amidst the warm soil. The body of the dead boy must be lying beneath the ground. If a man looked at Jason Todd's grave, he would not see anything unusual nor a single clue of who was buried deep under there. After all, the grave served its' purpose to those who needed it: as proof that Jason had once lived, yet as a reminder that he had not anymore.<p>

But when Jason stood over it, he saw nothing but a mound of dirt and a rock with his name on it. He thought of how he had ended up there, but never imagine how his partner had shed more precious tears that he was proud of. Jason noticed the flowers, and wondered who had laid it there. His mind came up with Alfred, or an old lady who felt sorry for Bruce Wayne's ward – the truth was far from that, as it was Dick Grayson who bought the roses months ago, guilt heaving on his shoulders. Jason knew nothing. He didn't understood that he was wanted, that he was loved. His grave was nothing more than an obligation of a guardian, not as a monument of pain and love and loss.

If Dick had died, would it have been different? Would Bruce killed his murderer, be so devastated that he refused to wear the cowl again, or at least never recruit another Robin in his place? Jason was sure of that. Dick was Bruce's first and favorite, everything that Bruce had hoped Jason would turned out to be. Jason remembered the first time he met him. Dick was helping him pass the test. Radiant, golden Dick. Perfect moves, perfect speed, perfect affections to everyone. Jason strived to be him one day, to be the flawless Robin and make Bruce proud, so he could say that he would never leave his post like Dick, and that would make Bruce loved him even more. Guess that was just a fantasy of some stupid, fatherless boy.

"Jason."

Speak of the devil. Dick Grayson was walking slowly to Jason and his grave, and dammit, Jason had a single tear at the edge of his eye. A single tear was still a tear. It showed weakness. Recklessly, he wiped it off.

"Dick." Jason smirked. His brain was racing as it tried to find a reason why Dick was here. Perhaps he had hit a sensor and the first bird came to see what did it, or Dick was here to visit another grave, or really Jason's predecessor was just taking a stroll. In the graveyard. That seemed a little odd, even for sentimental Dick.

"Jason, why –" Dick choked, then continued, "why are you here?"

Why _was_ he here? He was curious, that was why. That was what any person would have done if they had been resurrected from the dead, right? They would visit their graves and made sure that they had really died. Of course, his first choice was to find his family, like any lost person would. But that was not an option – Bruce didn't care about him enough to truly take the life of the monster who had taken Jason away from him.

"I'm checking out Bruce's choice in tombstones," said Jason lightly, though he was thinking of all the possibilities of what would happen next. "The angel's a bit too much, don't you think? Who'd ever thought I could be a good little _angel_?"

"It was to guide you," Dick replied quietly. "The angel. It was supposed to guide you peacefully."

"Didn't work so well, huh?"

"What are you doing, Jason?" Dick wore a pained expression on his face, like it hurt him to look at Jason, like he was regretting something. In that moment, Jason hated Dick. Jason hated him so much, how he genuinely loved people and the impossible standard he had built. Jason wanted to punch him, he wanted to kick him and thrash him and smash him to the floor. He wanted to _hurt_ Dick, for being better that him, for being Bruce's son.

"I think I'm here to kill you, Dickie-bird," Jason said.


	2. What Needed to be Done

**AN: Sorry this took so long and the chapter's so short! I've been busy being a committee in my school festival :p What do you think Jason or Dick would do next? Enjoy the story!**

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><p>It was curious, but when Jason declared that he was going to murder Dick, the stretch of silence following it was clearest for both men. There came a sort of understanding – a sad, accepted one – that Jason was not the boy who had laughed in triumph when he had caught the bad guys, that Dick was not one of his role model anymore, that Jason had, through bitter tragedies and disappointments, simply changed ... Not necessarily for the worse, nor for the better. It was the kind of change that molded someone's beliefs into something else, and Jason had embraced that. For how else was he supposed to take the subtle rejection from his former mentor?<p>

It seemed as if an infinity had blanketed them, and they were willing to wait forever. But Dick was the one who broke the silence. "Why?" he said, "Because I didn't die?" His face turned straight, though if you had known Dick Grayson, you would see hints of distress evident on it.

"I honestly don't know," Jason replied. "I'm homicidal, remember? Isn't that what Bruce told you? Fearless, reckless Jason is now a criminal. One of _them_."

Dick chose to remain silent.

That was a mistake from his side, for then, Jason was throwing his fist right at Dick's nose. It was blocked, to no one's surprise, and he returned the gesture with a merry kick to Jason's leg. Right hook, elbow to the stomach. Duck, punch, jump, punch again. "Argh," Jason groaned, falling to the ground. Before he got the chance to get up, Dick had pinned him down with his foot. A nasty grin spread across Jason's face.

"Listen to me," said Dick. "Listen. Bruce – he loved you. He grieved, Jason. There wasn't a single picture of you in the manor or in the cave, because it was too much. He took them down –"

"Shut up!"

"He took them down, he was reserved and more violent after you're gone ... he was even more broken than you. He loved you, Jason."

"Not enough to do what needed to be done."

"Batman doesn't kill," Dick said this in his coldest voice yet.

"He would for you."


	3. One Act

**AN: I was planning to complete the story in this chapter, but I felt like there's more that Dick would have wanted to say, so I think I'm going to extend this to five chapters instead of three :) Thanks for the reviews! I'm really glad you don't hate it.**

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><p>"Jason, I –"<p>

"Save it," said Jason, "I'm not _interested_ in anything that you've got to say." And he tried to push Dick away, to break free of his foot and this whole embarrassing situation, but Dick wouldn't allow that. He put more force on his foot, seemingly determined to keep Jason pinned to the ground.

"Let go of me." Jason almost shouted, but he gathered the little common sense left in his mind, and deduced that he would simply look more foolish by doing so. "Dick. Let. Go." He emphasized each word with an attempt to stand up, all to no avail. He glared at Dick, his brain cursing with every dirty words he knew, cursing Dick, cursing Bruce, cursing himself ... _Why_ did he have to say it out loud? Those envy and jealousy was not meant to be heard by anyone, least of all Dick. Because he didn't even know how he felt about the first Robin. He used to adore him, and then feared his return, and now he supposed he hated him. But for what?

"You need to listen to me," Dick said, then added a quiet, "please." For a split second Dick shifted his foot, but it was enough for Jason to get up and throw a punch at him. Dick wiped the blood on his nose, waiting for the next blow. It never came. He saw Jason looking at his fist, then straight to his eyes. "Jason." Dick tried to maintain eye contacts, rivaling Jason's angry glare with a soft, silent plead. "Whatever assumptions you have against Bruce, it's _wrong_. I know you feel betrayed after what's happened with the Joker, and I understand, but what you're doing isn't right. Killing criminals, Jason? You walked away from your father's murderer. This isn't you. Just let us help you."

Dick watched, as Jason seemed to consider this. "Help me?" Jason shook his head. "You don't understand –" he launched his punch at Dick, "you never understood –" Dick blocked Jason's fist, "never –" another blow, "did –"

"What didn't I understand, Jason?" Dick demanded, jumping to a tombstone.

"This isn't just about Bruce –" Jason managed to knock Dick off the tomb, and they continued their fight on the ground, "I never slept well in that manor. I was afraid you'd come knocking and asking for your old job back, or Bruce finally realizing that I won't ever be as good as you and threw me out to the street. I had nothing –"

"So did I –"

"Wrong!" Jason kicked Dick especially hard this time. "You could go back to your circus if he didn't want you. You had a home. Two parents that loved you unconditionally, and one adopted one who doted on you since day one. What did I have? Stolen tires to sell!"

Dick couldn't respond. He kept his body busy by blocking Jason's blows, but his mind was elsewhere. How could Jason think like that? Jason had him, and Barbara and Alfred, and Bruce, too. Was it Dick's fault, then, for not noticing the heavy burden Jason had to carry all these years? It was true, there were pressures of him to be the Robin Dick used to be. And Dick was too busy being Nightwing to guide him, protect him, help turn him into a good person ... He didn't do his job as Jason's brother, and it must have not been easy to train under Batman without something to hold on to (for Dick held his parents' memories proud and true, and he doubted whether Jason could have done that).

"Well, Dickie-bird?" Jason was being more aggressive now, and Dick could barely keep up. "Do you understand? It's useless fighting for Batman, using his way. It makes no sense, does it, to keep loving someone who sees you as nothing but a temporary replacement?"

And Dick fought back, because he was angry at Jason and Bruce and himself, because he felt guilty, and because Jason was completely, utterly wrong about everything. Jason didn't see Bruce then at his funeral, nor when Bruce faced off with the Joker. He didn't know that Bruce had tried to hit Superman. He didn't hear Bruce's strained voice when he said that Jason's suit stayed, despite everything. It was Jason who understood nothing, and it was ironically funny how one act could make him believe that. One act, the act of self-control and doing what was right ...

"He loved you."

"Explain then, why didn't he end the life of my murderer."

One act, an act of small mercy ...

"Explain why didn't he try to resurrect me using the Lazarus Pit."

One act, an act of brave decision ...

"Explain why he regarded me as a common criminal, even after all the times we've been through."

One act, that Batman had done so many years ago, when he was a child crouching on his parents' bodies in a dark alley.

The act of letting go.

And Dick had understood that, so why hadn't Jason?


	4. Closure

**AN: I had this in my folder for quite a while now, and I was deliberating whether to publish this or not. I thought the last chapter ended quite nicely, but it didn't really have any resolution in it. So. I made this chapter (which was meant to be the last). I hate the number four, though. I'll probably just write another chapter just so it won't be that number. Anyways, enjoy! :D**

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><p>Jason felt foolish. He had felt a great deal of emotions before (most of which, granted, were negative), but he had yet to experience this awareness that he was, for lack of better word, an idiot. He was an idiot with a knife hidden inside his jacket, an idiot with the ability and mentality to kill, and yet an idiot who couldn't make his adopted brother to shut up. He wondered why he didn't end Dick's life sooner. After a moment's thought, however, he seriously doubted whether he could do so at all. <em>Dick wasn't a criminal<em>, he reasoned. But Dick annoyed Jason. That, he could not deny.

"You ask the most obvious questions," Dick mused, after a long pause. "We can have coffee and talk about them. There's a nice diner not far from here where the people usually don't punch each other in the face." And he turned and walked away from Jason and his grave, but he did so with slow, waiting steps. In a moment of sheer insanity, Jason almost followed. Almost.

"Coffee, huh?" Jason cleaned away the bit of dirt on his clothes. Suddenly the whole situation seemed so awkward. Not the two-brothers-are-going-to-make-things-right-after-a-fight kind of awkward, but a shit-I-can't-possibly-hurt-him-further-in-a-diner one.

Dick shrugged. "Unless you prefer hot cocoa," he said lightly. "Which, incidentally, Alfred makes best. Bruce's out with the League," he added helpfully.

"You know I can kill you, Dickie."

"Yeah."

"And I was trying to do that just now. That blood down your nose was by me," he said with a tinge of pride.

"I know."

"We're not brothers."

"So you said."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," said Dick softly, "that you've forgotten that we were trained and loved and fed under the same roof. Bruce took you in like he did with me. We _are_ brothers, Jason. We're family. And family takes care of each other. I knew I didn't then, but I want to start now. Just ... come back, all right?" He sighed, now turning to look at Jason's tomb. "You're still the same Jason who catch bad people to make a world a slightly better place, aren't you?"

"Maybe not," Jason replied. "Bruce doesn't seem to think so."

"Why does it matter what Bruce think?" Dick retorted. "You said you don't need help; fine. But I don't want to see you as our enemy every time we meet. You're not. You've a good heart, and you still try to battle crime despite everything. _Why_ is it so hard to make you believe that we do care? _I_ care. Bruce cares. Does it really need to be proven by the murder of the Joker?"

"Yes," said Jason firmly.

"You," Dick said, "are stupider than that I thought. You're not twelve anymore, Jason. Do you seriously need daddy's approval for everything?"

"I don't have a dad," he said, then added, "or a brother. What do you want, Dick? You've put flowers on my grave and kick the shit out of me, and now what? You want me to go all brotherly and hug you and we can sob over our pathetic little lives? No, thanks. I'm good where I'm at. I get to rid Gotham of all its' filth with a _gun_. You know how sweet using that thing is, Dick? Probably not, since you're too busy clinging to some lunatic in a bat costume."

"Actually, I know how to use a gun. I'm a cop."

"Whatever," Jason shrugged. "I'm not going back. And because you totally ruined the momentum by asking me out for _coffee_ (seriously, dude, what the hell?), I don't much feel like killing you anymore."

Not true. Jason wanted to ruined Dick's face and stab him with his knife and if that didn't finish him, he could spare a bullet to his gut. And this time he knew why: because Dick was too good. This whole conversation just proved to him how positively saint-like Dick Grayson was, and how he was far better than him even in the aspect of forgiving and accepting.

And he was right.

Dick was right (when was he ever wrong, now that Jason thought about it). He knew Bruce loved him. Cared for him. And Dick, too. He knew all that and yet he still chose to abandoned them for one sole reason that he himself did not fully comprehend: for the Joker's life. It was this price that Bruce had to pay to get Jason back; this bounty that Jason had to let go to be loved and cared again. Was it that important? _Yes_, Jason thought to himself. It was the line that drew the relationship between the second Robin and Batman, because what hero would let a villain take away his sidekick? On what ground could Batman let both dead protégée and madman go? It wasn't right. How could Bruce avenge his parents by taking down all criminals in one city, yet he could not get the one vermin that murdered his ward so brutally? Was Jason not as valuable as Bruce's parents, then? Was he that worthless, that replaceable, that ... second-rate?

"Look," Dick said, breaking Jason's train of thought. His voice was subtler, but more forced. "I'm sorry, all right? I can't make this right. Neither can Bruce. I'm sorry you died. I'm sorry the Joker didn't. I'm sorry for everything."

Dick stepped closer to Jason. "And forget about coffee. I just ... I thought you needed it. You're looking at your own grave weeks after Bruce – after he hit you," he said, coughing. He was looking at Jason with those brilliant blue eyes now, as if pleading for something, as if it was begging for an intangible admittance. "And you know ... I think I need it, too. Closure. We both do."

_Are you kidding me?_

"Closure?" Jason mocked, smirking. "I don't need closure."

"You're lying."

Of course he was. Jason Todd had just planned an elaborate scheme some times ago just to get Batman and him and the Joker in the same place. What on earth was that for, if not for closure? If he needed the Joker to be dead, he could have done so himself. But it was Bruce who must do it. For the sake of confirming the idea that was in Jason's head; for the sake of knowing for sure that Batman did not murder the Joker because he chose not to. For closure.

And suddenly Dick was moving towards him and he held his arms out. Jason didn't move. In that madness of a second, Dick embraced Jason. He was hugging him.

And Jason felt wetness in his cheek, and he knew he lost it. His eyes were hot. He couldn't speak. He just ... sobbed. Like a boy that he thought he outgrown, like a poor lost soul, he wept on Dick's shoulder like he had never done so before. It was all about the thrashing and breaking things and uncontrollable rage in the past, about being angry at one person but also the whole world at the same time. This time, though, he just felt sad. Simply miserable. Yet there was another strange emotion stirring inside him, one that he dismissed as a burden over the years and as unimportant ... he felt lonesome in the embrace of his brother.

Maybe he didn't need closure after all, or the Joker's life or Bruce taking vengeance for him. Maybe all he needed was this: someone to hold him when he was a mess. It occurred to him then how awful it was to always worry; always frightened that someone could take away what little he had had. He wasn't in the least bit troubled now, though. Somehow Dick's action made everything all right. And just for tonight, it was enough.


	5. Friendly Acquaintances

**AN: Holy shit. Last chapter. This was so very short, and I apologize for that. I honestly thought that this would end in chapter three, but then I wrote chapter four and it was a satisfying ending all in all. But like I said: THE NUMBER FOUR DRIVES ME CRAZY. I just _had_ to make it a good number, so I wrote this for that purpose only. Thanks for reading this far, I truly appreciate it! :D**

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><p>They ended up not having coffee after all.<p>

Jason chose to walk away. There was too much injustice, he reasoned. Not enough reason to stay.

And when Dick tried to say something, he just shook his head."No." He looked at Dick's eyes. "Just stop. This doesn't change anything. I still died. They still lived."

He turned around, but Dick shouted to him one last time, "Take a damn good care of yourself," he said. "We don't want to bury you twice. You weren't there," he added, pained and hurt. _You weren't there when he almost killed someone. You weren't there when I had to put flowers on your grave. _But Dick did not say this to him. He understood that Jason had reached the point of no return; it didn't matter what he said to him, because Jason would still leave in the end. Things were never going to be the same.

Jason didn't turn around. He kept going, one hand deep in his pocket, and the other waving absentmindedly at Dick. Truce.

So Dick slept a little sounder that night, because even though Jason might be on a murdering spree right then, there was hope that they could at least be acquaintances. Friendly acquaintances that took down criminals while not necessarily liking each other. Just acquaintances. Or partners. Maybe even brothers. It was a long way from that, Dick knew, but it could be a possible progression. One night they fought each other senseless in the graveyard, ending it with a dramatic hug, and some times after that? Who knows. They might just fight alongside each other.

Or they might also try to murder each other again.

(Dick was being optimistic about this, though)


End file.
